


"Love me, mom"

by mynameissrain



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Birthday, Broken Families, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Sad, Sad Ending, Sad Jughead Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 12:17:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17960354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameissrain/pseuds/mynameissrain
Summary: Today's Fp's birthday, but he finds out about one of the most heartbreaking news he ever heard.–NOT A STORY, SHORT AU OR ONE-SHOTS OR HOWEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT!





	"Love me, mom"

_"Jughead, your mother is trafficking drugs, she came here to take care of her business with Hiram Lodge ..."_

No. It couldn't be.

Right?

Mom and JB couldn't have come back alone for that.

Mom and JB loved him, they wanted to be a family again, right?

It was a ironically sunny day, bright and silent. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky; purity blue and holy. If he concentrated, he could hear the whisper of the breeze sing in the grass of the trailer park.

But Jughead wasn't here to appreciate the magic of tranquility. Jughead had everything but tranquility.

Actually, he felt a whole pack of existence and emptiness at the same time as each step brought him closer to the door of his house.

He had to repress a bitter and dismayed laugh. _Home_. It sounds ironic to call "home" the only place that never felt like it.

Betty walked beside him, holding his hand tightly, making sure he knew she was there, at his side, that she wasn't going to leave him. He heard her athletes crush the grass, her breathing almost silent, trying to not break the silence that her boyfriend had established as soon as she confessed that his mother might have come to Riverdale for many reasons ... But the family that had left here years ago it wasn't one of them.

He felt hate. Towards Gladys? Towards JB? Toward himself or the curse of the Joneses?He couldn't tell, but if there was something he could promise with certainty, was that he could count the pieces in which his heart had broken, leaving him that bitter and familiar feeling of emptiness.

What had he done to deserve this? What did he do wrong?

And Jughead was sure that some world-renowned or marginally iconic writer once said something about strength, about weakness; about the love, the pain and the agony of a broken heart. About a shattered soul.

–But no one prepared him for the hell he felt now, about to open the door of the trailer, like a mirage. He felt that if he turned that doorknob, any emotional wall he had built throughout his life would collapse like an ill-structured house of cards.

Because that's how Jughead felt: badly structured.

"Jug, we can leave if you don't feel capable ..." Betty whispered at his side, with a soft and careful voice. He felt the firm grip of her slender fingers hovering over his hand.

Jughead didn't want to look at her. Not her. Not now.

"I'm fine."

_Lie_.

 

* * *

 

 

When they entered, Betty felt her blood run cold.

Candles, cake, smiles on faces ...

_It was FP's birthday_.

Jughead admired the scene silently - even though Betty could hear the weight in his chest making it difficult for him to breathe.

The trailer seemed to be in a completely different time slot, perhaps even in another atmosphere: the lights off, the candles were the only thing that illuminated the soft and sweet darkness. Jellybean and Gladys were around, entertained with the dishes.

Betty felt his hand tighten under her grip.

"Jughead, son!" Gladys celebrated, with a stunning smile that shone from ear to ear. Betty wondered how someone could fake something like that, lie with something like that ... Corrupt a smile like that. "I'm glad you arrived on time, your father must be about to come!" She hurried, turning to look at the blonde girl next to him. "Why don't you help JB with the drinks?"

Jughead didn't speak. He didn't move a mere millimeter; He remained completely still, his eyes bathed in the sting of tears.

_Don't break now, Jughead. Don't give them that pleasure_.

Gladys, seeing that neither Betty nor he had moved, insisted:

"Jughead, son, if you don't hurry your father will arrive and the surprise won't be ready."

This time Jughead didn't repress laughter: it was sarcastic, rude and hurtful. It was designed to cut with its coldness. To hurt. To alert.

Gladys crossed her arms, beginning to get bored with the sudden change of her son.

"Forsythe Pendleton Jones III, can you tell me what the hell is wrong with you?" Gladys asked.

_Ironic_. Thought. _She doesn't know how to act like a mother in any way, but she knows how to order and control as one._

But Jughead didn't know much about mothers anyway, right? He only had the model of his friends' mothers. Only that.

Jughead wanted to talk.

For the love of God, he wanted to say one and a thousand things more than his brain could even elaborate. But a strong and suffocating knot prevented it. He struggled with all his strength to not be silent, to say something, to break, to allow himself to be human for one fucking time in his life ... But something inside him refused.

_Don't fall apart, not now, not in front of her._

_Not in front of mom_.

_Mom..._

_Mom, please don't leave me. I need you. Please, please I need you._

He didn't know how long he was like that, frankly. Standing there, struggling to convince himself to speak, with Betty by his side, keeping absolute silence.

And he really wanted to talk, speak before it was too late, speak up. Save the worst part to his father ...

But FP was already opening the door, and all eyes fell on him like lead slabs.

His smile betrayed, seeing the preparations before the attendees.

"Hi guys!" He waved, patting Jughead on the back. "You didn't need all this, really ... It wasn't necessary."

FP, being aware for the first time of the absolute silence around him, looked at Jughead, then at Gladys and JB and finally at Betty, looking for answers. But Betty, feeling totally out of place, couldn't do much more than lower her head.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" Asked FP, still retaining his innocent smile. Jughead's stomach churned.

Gladys looked at Jughead, as did Jellybean, staring. It was like watching a bloody visual war, silent like a cemetery. Blue eyes gleamed in the siblings' eyes when they met, icy.

_Do you also want to leave, JB?_

"Have I missed something ...?" FP insisted, drawing the woman with the brown ringlets' attention. He devoted only a few seconds of his attention before returning to stare at his son.

Jellybean smiled sweetly.

"Don't worry dad, Jughead is kind of moody because he had a bad day today, that's all." She explained, taking a napkin with her to the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Don't lie to him," Jughead ordered, petrifying his sister on the place.

His voice was cold, sharp and deadly. Jellybean could see the hostility in each word.

She turned slowly to look at him, still holding the pile of red paper napkins in her hands. She frowned with a look that could only have been translated as «What's the matter with you? »

"Back off, Sergeant Jones, I didn't say anything." Jellybean joked. But FP knew that sarcasm and acidic irony was far from being a game.

Jughead made the attempt to walk towards his sister with sudden movements and aggressive persistence. Betty held his hand tighter, pleading his attention. FP, launched with the same urgency as his son, stood between him and his sister, looking at him between confused, hurt and worried. What happened to the Jughead who begged him a thousand times to bring his mother and sister back?

_Mom and Jellybean could come back. I could come back. It is not too late yet_.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Jughead!? Can you tell which bug bit you? "His father was no longer stupefaction, but pure instinct of protection for his daughter. His arms as a barrier, his body a shield. No one was going to hurt Jellybean without going over him.

"Mom and Jellybean are here for Hiram's business," Jughead spat, with a cold look of betrayal dedicated to his mother. Silence fell on the shoulders of the Jones family like a marble slab. "They don't care about us, not a slightest shit, they want to take advantage of your position as Sheriff, that's all." His voice broke. The security of his words completely unrelated to the strength he had left.

Jughead could see how his father's heart broke slowly, and then suddenly. His face lost all emotion, expressionless, as he slowly turned around to look into his daughter's eyes. Those she had inherited from her mother.

And when Jellybean's eyes met his father's, there was a muffled sob from Jughead.

"Is that true, Jellybelly?" He asked, with a lump in his throat. He felt the tears on the edge of emergence, his lower lip trembling with the terrible effort of not crying in front of his wife and daughter.

There wasn't an iota of apology in the rebellious eyes of the youngest of the Joneses, but coldness and contempt.

"How does it feel when they break your heart, dad?" Jellybean counterattacked, spitting the most deadly and bitter poison. FP stared in horror at the same lips that once gave him a young and innocent smile now giving him such a blow.

FP remained silent, giving his old soul the freedom to sink, collapse and tear, bleeding in silence in the depths of his abandoned being.

"I don't know, Jellybean, you tell me." Jughead barked. And if his sister's poison was deadly, this was the slowest, most agonizing torture ever imagined. He swallowed hard, moving away from Betty to face her. "Tell me how it feels, how is it tl get your broken?"

Again, nobody answered. Jughead's eyes danced from his mother to his sister, watery.

"Tell me what it's like to spend years blaming yourself for your mother's flight, for having lost your sister, for seeing your father fall into an infinite spiral of depression." FP's eyes lifted from the ground to stare in astonishment to his son. "To think that maybe, if you hadn't been born, everything would have gone much better." _So he blames himself ... He blames himself for everything ..._  FP thought."Tell me how is it that the only model of mother that you have known are your friends' and girlfriend's moms, tell me how is itnot receiving a sad call for your birthday. "Jughead's voice would be choppy if it hadn't been completely broken already." Tell me what it's like to call your mother, asking for shelter while your whole world was coming down, and being rejected. "FP looked at Gladys; she had her arms crossed over her chest and watched with silent indifference her son's pain." Tell me what it is like to one day getting back one of the happiest memories of your life and discover on your father's birthday that They are nothing but two interested harpies. Tell me, Jellybean ... Tell me, does it hurt to get your heart broken? "

Again, complete silence.

And the tears began to fall.

"Why?" Jughead whispered, imprisoned by the painful knot in his throat. "Why you don't love me, mom?" His blue eyes found her mother's: impassive, cold. "Why you don't love dad?" FP choked back a sob, his eyes locked to the floor, again. "I love him, why can't you?"

"Excuse me !?" protested Jellybean, offended, drawing everyone's attention. FP looked defeated his daughter's rage. "Who was the useless man who got drunk until he fell unconscious? Because of who we didn't have food? Who ran a fucking gang?"

"Who abandoned who?"

There it was, the golden question. The Achilles heel. The wound.

"Your father chose the drink over his family," Gladys said, opening her mouth for the first time.

"Dad was sick," Jughead corrected, looking with suppressed rage at his mother. _Love me. Love him Please_. "Needed help. And while you were out there living your happy life,he stayed here and took good care of me,did his best...Turns out that he's a better parent than you will ever be."

"One gets tired of helping, Jughead." Gladys said.

In Jughead was born a hurt sarcastic smile.

"But not lying, from what I see," Jughead finished, looking one last time before walking to the door, opening it with a sharp shove.

* * *

 

  
"Jug, wait for me." Betty begged, running after her boyfriend's accelerated pace. Her ponytail jumped from side to side.

Jughead had advanced to aggressive strides for at least twenty minutes as soon as he left the trailer, fleeing from the terrible memory of his mother, from the hatred and pain. Now they were in an old rusty park.

Jughead breathed heavily, trying to contain the rage and pain that was hugging his chest and throat. It suffocated him, killed him. It was destroying him.

Betty stared at him, distressed. Her fingers caressed the thin, trembling line of his jaw, causing a distinct effect on him. Her blue eyes traveled over his disfigured face; desolate, off, broken. Betty felt like screaming.

"Why they don't love me, Betty?" Jughead asked, and her soul broke into a thousand pieces at the desperation in his question.

It wasn't the Jughead who had seen Ben die when he spoke. Neither the one who ran in car races, nor the one who almost died for the Serpents. It was the twelve-year-old Jughead who saw his mother cross the threshold of the door with his sister holding her hand, to never come back. It was the Jughead who waited for her to come back every night to read him a story. It was the Jughead who grew up watching his father drown in a deep depression.

Betty hated herself for crying: it wasn't her family, nor her history. This moment was for Jughead, to let go of all the pain that was burning him.

"Why they don't love us? Dad is trying, really, I promise you, Betty," Jughead assured, crying in her solace.

Betty nodded, trembling.

_I believe you, Jughead. I believe you._

And, finally, the wall fell.

The force fell.

Jughead fell.

He grabbed his symbolic hat with hatred and threw it with rage against the ground. Breathing with ferocity, anger and impotence.

It was like seeing a ship sinking, a palace being reduced to ashes, a volcano erupting, a cannon shot to start the war; heartbreaking, terrible and paralyzing.

Jughead dropped into Betty's arms, which, safe and strong, welcomed him and hugged him tightly. He hid his face in her neck, crying inconsolably over a sobbing Betty.

His arms wrapped around her, tightly, making sure she was real, that she wouldn't leave, that he wasn't alone.

She could hear the irregular and broken beat of his heart piercing the sweater, crossing the air to whisper in Betty's chest a sad ballad.

_And, today, Jughead Jones fell_.

* * *

 

  
The trailer was once again in the solitary silence to which FP was bitterly adapted years ago; his son gone, Gladys and Jellybean away from him. Far from the biggest mistake of their lives.

A cylindrical figure fell from his hand to the ground, revealing when the mountain of other bottles accumulated on the ground collided.

Slumped on the couch, heavy breathing and soul shattered, FP felt a déjà vu engulf him.

He reached out to grab a new beer, opened it and took the green crystal figure to his lips, but not before offering.

"Happy birthday, mate," he whispered, as a single tear slid down the path to his ear. 


End file.
